


The upper hand in love

by Tipofmytongue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Improvised Sex Toys, Kissing, Love, M/M, Male Solo, Non-Consensual, Relationship Advice, Relationship(s), Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:38:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6609298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipofmytongue/pseuds/Tipofmytongue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John discovers something within Sherlock's wallet that changes their friendship forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The wallet

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments. I'm not English, so there are bound to be some grammar errors. Sorry about that.

CHAPTER 1 – The wallet

The doorbell of 221B rang. Sherlock didn’t move a muscle; he was too busy studying nails in his microscope. He saw that John got up to pay the pizza-delivery guy.   
“Sherlock, I forgot my wallet at the clinic.” Sherlock may have heard John say. Or something. These nails were very interesting.   
“Sherlock?”  
“Take my card. Wallet. Right pocket of Belstaff.”   
“Thanks.”  
Sherlock saw out of the corner of his eye that John left the living room to retrieve Sherlock’s card from his wallet. Oh no. His wallet. No. No. No. No! He jumped from his seat behind the microscope and sprinted out the kitchen door to stop John, but John had already gone downstairs and Sherlock heard him talk to the pizza-guy.   
“That’ll be 18,90.”  
“Yes, one moment.”  
Then there was complete silence for longer than one would expect a silence to last when one retrieves a card from a wallet. Unless.   
“Do you mind paying? I need to be off.”  
“Yes… Yes… Of course… I just… Of course.” John stumbled. Sherlock sighed, turned around, walked over to the window where he straightened both his cuffs and his collar. What had he done? This was truly disastrous. He heard the 17 steps being walked by John + the weight of a large pizza. On the upper step John hesitated before he entered the kitchen to place the pizza on the counter. Sherlock could hear John had expected Sherlock to still be seated by the microscope, but how could he focus on nails now? 

Pizza placed on counter. John’s low cough. Then approaching steps. Sherlock’s heart was racing.   
“Sherlock?”  
“Ye-es…?”  
Sherlock closed his eyes, still facing out the window, his back towards John.   
“What’s this?”   
“What’s what?”  
“This.”   
Sherlock took a deep breath and didn’t have to look around to answer John’s question.   
“It’s a picture of you.”  
“I can see that. Why do you have a picture of me inside your wallet?”  
Sherlock turned around and faced John. He looked directly into those grey, beautiful eyes, the living and breathing object of the photo he looked at every day.   
“I… erhm… It’s… just… it doesn’t matter.”  
“It does matter. The only times people have pictures of other people in their wallets are when they are in love or blood-related. I have one of Sarah and one of Mary in mine, and last time I checked I am not your father nor your wife. So what’s going on, Sherlock?”  
Stupid idiot, he’d practically spelled it out already, he might as well say it. Sherlock took another deep breath and saw the boat carrying their friendship get ready to leave the harbour.   
“I… erhm… (Long pause) I’m in love with you.”  
Sherlock was frozen solid. The words were out. The truth with them. He couldn’t even manage to take his eyes off John, who looked shocked bordering angry. A perfectly normal and expected reaction to having your best friend claiming love and revealing homosexuality at the same time.   
Then the eyes softened. Warmth spread in John’s face. His wrinkles got more visible, his face muscles relaxed. Sherlock was confused. He didn’t understand what that meant.   
“Do you want to sit?” John asked, his voice softer than usual. Sherlock’s frozen body smelted a bit and he managed to stumble his way over to his chair. John sat down in his own chair opposite him.   
“That must have been difficult to tell, I bet.” John said.   
“Are you going psychologist on me now?”   
“No. I just think you deserve to be able to talk about this with me without me having an insane reaction. We are best friends. You have developed feelings for me. This is something we should talk about.”  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Sherlock said. This was tough. He really hadn’t expected John to be this understanding. He’d expected him to run, flee and maybe be able to speak to Sherlock after a couple of weeks. This was highly out of character.   
“How long have you loved me?” John asked, sounding almost clinical, and leaned forward. Sherlock looked down on the floor. Forever. He’d loved John for as long as he could remember. Since that dinner at Angelo’s probably. John had been so beautiful in that grey sweater. That tiny lick on the lips. Then the absolute denial which had forced Sherlock to close the slight ajar door that could have lead to something more.   
“Since Angelo’s.”  
“When? The first time?”  
“Yes.”  
“That’s… That’s eight years ago, Sherlock.”  
“Yes.”  
“And you’ve been in love with me ever since?”  
“Yes.”  
“Hmm.. Have you ever wanted to kiss me?”  
What? That was a turn in the line of questions Sherlock most certainly had not expected. Kissing John. Yes, had wanted to every day. After the taxi-chase. After the shooting of the same cabbie. After saving John’s life in the tramway. Yes, absolutely after ripping his clothes off at the swimming pool. After and during every single case, dinner, fight, laugh and shared experience, Sherlock had wanted to kiss John. During John and Mary’s I-do’s. During his best man-speech. During the first dance.   
“Yes.”  
“You should be able to.”  
“What?” Sherlock’s head was spinning. What was John saying?   
“Look, Sherlock. Being in love with someone is wonderful if it’s with the right person. I’m not implying anything here, I mean, I’m with Mary and we’ve Sarah together, and I’m not gay or anything, but I am your best friend and I want you to feel it. You should be able to kiss the person you love. Even though it might be under the wrong circumstances.”  
John stood up. Sherlock looked up from the floor and into John’s eyes. John was holding out his hand and Sherlock took it.   
“Come here, you.” John said, pulled Sherlock closed to him, looked him in the eyes and smiled an impossibly beautiful smile before he put his lips on Sherlock’s. Sherlock exploded inside. Everything he had ever felt for John multiplied with seventy-eight, point six. The waves of emotions running through him were so strong his legs weakened. John put his hand on Sherlock’s back to steady him and let the kiss continue. Lips parted and as John’s tongue carefully touched his, a bolt of lightning shot straight through him and down to his crotch. This was the single most amazing thing he’d ever experienced. Every nerve was on fire, his brain was boiling and when John pulled away, Sherlock’s heart was beating so fast it felt as if he’d just run the marathon.   
“That was very intense.” Sherlock said, panting slightly.   
“Glad you liked it.” John said. Sherlock was way too out of it to be able to deduce a thing about John’s state of mind, but he sounded very ordinary, as if he had been complimented on a new sweater.   
“Anyway, it’s a bit late, I think I might go to bed now, clinic tomorrow.”  
“You’re staying here?”  
“Yeah, I told you earlier, when you were working with the microscope.”  
“I tune you out when I work.”  
“I know, sorry, Mary’s having friends over. I really don’t want to be part of that, so if it’s okay..?”  
“Sure. You’re always welcome.” Sherlock wondered what he should do now. Should he offer John to sleep in his bed? No wait. John hadn’t wanted this kiss. He’d done it for Sherlock. So no more intimacy would ever occur or should ever occur. John was married. And a father. And heterosexual. Damn it. That kiss had been amazing. Sherlock still felt the semi-erection press against his trousers.   
“You know where it is, so…”  
“Nice, I’ll just brush my teeth.” John said and popped off into the bathroom down the hall. Sherlock followed and tried to listen for any proof that the kiss had been more than a mercy. But no, John sounded like he always sounded before going to bed at night. When the door unlocked and opened Sherlock stood a bit too close for it not to be embarrassing, and he started fumbling with the green wallpaper.   
“Well, good night. Hope you’ll sleep tight.” he said, not noticing that he pulled out a large piece of the wallpaper. John stopped him doing it.   
“Hey, look at me.” John said. Sherlock didn’t.   
“This won’t change anything. I’m still your best friend. You’re still the greatest consulting detective in the world.”  
“I’m the only consulting –“  
“… detective, yeah yeah, but still. Love is chemistry, you said it yourself. It happens. And I do love you. As my best friend. Never doubt that.”  
Sherlock looked further away. John put his hand on Sherlock’s cheek and turned his face around so that they could face each other.   
“Hey. Look at me. Never doubt that.”  
Then John stood on his toes and gave Sherlock a goodnight-kiss on the lips before he turned away and walked the stairs to his bedroom on the third floor.   
Sherlock didn’t understand one single bit.


	2. Sentiment in deductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock can't understand what John is thinking.

The next morning Sherlock was up before dawn, having slept only four hours. He resumed the nail-project until he heard John’s rushed footsteps down the stairs.   
“Fuck’s sake, I’m late, I slept like… I don’t know, someone who sleeps very heavily.” John said before he hurried into the bathroom. Sherlock heard him pee, then quickly brush his teeth, before running the water to do something about that awful, funny, lovely, out-of-control morning-hair of his. He came back with his jacket in his hand and peeked his head inside the kitchen.   
“Sorry, I know this is rude, but I’m so late.”  
“It’s okay.” Sherlock said, not looking up from the microscope.   
“Well, I’ll drop by tomorrow, if you want to do something. Dinner or… yeah, something.” Then then whole figure of John walked into the kitchen, around the kitchen table and leaned over to give Sherlock a quick kiss on the cheek.   
“Bye, Sherlock.” John said. And before Sherlock could blink, John was gone. 

***

After three hours of staring at the nails in the microscope, Sherlock was satisfied with his discoveries and called Molly to give her his information.   
“Sherlock, hi!”  
“I was right.”  
“About what?”  
“The nails. The person in question was in fact a biter before, but he’s stopped biting recently, nine days to be precise, indicating a change in stress levels, as the daily threat in his life is gone, because he killed him off himself. He’s the killer.”  
“Oh. That’s good news. Just need to find out who killed him then.”  
“His hairdresser.”  
“What?”  
“Yes, check out the hairs in the back of his neck.”  
“Oh. Right. Okay. I will.”  
“Then call Lestrade.”  
“Yes, of course. Sure. Thanks. Bye.”  
“Molly?”  
“Yes?”  
“Could I… ask you something?”  
“Yes?”  
“Not on the phone.”  
“I’m meeting Greg on the pub on the corner after work. We could meet there too, if it’s okay he’s with me.”  
“Who’s Greg?”  
“That joke is not working on me, Sherlock.”  
“Fine. See you there.”

***

Sherlock walked into the pub a quarter to five and saw Molly sitting in one of the corners next to Lestrade. He’d seen that coming for ages, long before they’d seen it themselves. Perhaps it was a good thing they were both there. They were both low on beer, so Sherlock walked over to the bar and ordered three beers and one Cognac, which he brought with him over to Molly and Lestrade.   
“Compliments to the love birds from the detective.” Sherlock said, shocked by how unusually soft he sounded.   
“Thanks!” they both replied. Yikes, synchronic already, Sherlock thought and sat down opposite them.   
“Congratulations.” he said.   
“Well, you saw it coming.” Molly said and squeezed Lestrade’s hand.   
“What did you want to ask?” she continued. They’d obviously discussed this right up until he’d arrived at their table.   
“Well, it’s… uhm… complicated. No. That’s a lie. It’s very simple. But it’s difficult to talk about.”  
“Take your time, mate.” Lestrade said.   
“Okay, I’ll just. Jump. Not jump as… from Bart’s. Leap. Into. Anyway… Yesterday I told John, or was rather ambushed into telling him, that I’m in love with him.”  
At these words Molly screamed out loud in the highest possible pitch she could manage. Lestrade made a face and put his finger to his ear.   
“I’ll send you the bill from my ear doctor.”  
“You told him??” Molly asked, her eyes wide with joy.   
“You knew?!” Lestrade asked Molly.  
“Of course I knew. Sherlock knew that I knew. I told him that day he jumped.”   
“Well, yes, I told him yesterday. And his reaction was… controversial.”  
“How?”  
“Well, he wanted to talk about it. And after all the talk, which was awful and embarrassing, we kissed.”  
Molly screamed again and both Sherlock and Lestrade rolled their eyes to one another.   
“I’m sorry, it’s just… about time, isn’t it?! Isn’t it, Greg??”  
“Heck, I didn’t even know you were gay, so I’m a bit shocked by it all.”  
“Have can you not know that? Sherlock’s been staring at your arse since forever.” Molly said.   
“You have?” Lestrade asked?   
“Yes.” Sherlock answered coldly. This was getting unbearable, but he needed answers. He needed help from these so-called experts on sentiment. Then he told them about John’s approach to the kissing, that it hadn’t meant anything to him, how he’d just done it as a friendly gesture. After he finished, Lestrade and Molly looked at him with puzzled looks on their faces.   
“Well, I wouldn’t kiss a bloke just to accommodate him. Ever. I think he’s playing you.” Lestrade said.  
“Good.” Molly said teasingly and squeezed his hand. “Listen, Sherlock, I think you need to see where this is going. I’ve never seen such behaviour before. It’s, as you said, a very, very controversial reaction. He might be suppressing something beneath his platonic feelings.”   
After this, Sherlock didn’t hear a word. His mind was occupied with imagining John and him together.

***

That train of thoughts was killed off the next afternoon. Sherlock, who was still in his robe, was playing the violin when his phone vibrated. 

Hi!  
Sandy at work gave me  
two tickets for a play   
tonight, so I’ll take Mary.  
We can do the dinner-thing  
tomorrow instead. Don’t  
be mad.   
J

Sherlock texted a short reply. 

Don’t say MacBeth.   
S

No, it’s a modern off-thing.   
Will Eno or something.  
J

The idiot didn’t even know about superstitions in theatre. Sherlock had known about that since that case where the theatre director had been murdered by three witches. Not real witches, obviously.   
He didn’t bother to reply. The day was ruined anyway. He’d looked forward to having John there. Going out to dinner. Looking for signs that John might have some kind of feelings for him. But no, John would much rather go to a play with Mary. He hadn’t even asked Sherlock to babysit, which he knew he was perfectly capable of doing. Git.   
Sherlock carefully put down the violin and fell down on the sofa. Without cases he was unable to turn his mind away from John. He wondered what he would wear tonight. Probably that grey suit and the red shirt. He was so handsome in that outfit. With his hair bushy in a cool way, sunglasses on top. Like a movie star. Sherlock leaned backwards and slowly moved his hand over his trousers and the semi-erect penis inside. He quickly got up and found his laptop, placed it on the table in front of him and opened a file named Press. He found a particular file which contained video footage from a case where John was being interviewed by a BBC reporter. That was more than a year ago. John was smiling slightly, but was still serious, soldier-like, and turning Sherlock on fire. Sherlock took off his trousers and pants and started touching himself all the time watching John on the screen. When the video ended, Sherlock reached forward and replayed it. Pleasure was building up in him. He pictured John’s hands on his penis, stroking him, licking him, sucking out his pre-cum, tugging at his pubic hair, moving a finger towards his arsehole, entering, exploring, finding.   
“Sherlock?”  
Sherlock quickly withdrew from his fantasy and opened his eyes. To his huge embarrassment, John was standing in the doorway in front of him, watching him as he lay there, naked, exposed, vulnerable, perverse.   
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, please, please, go.” Sherlock said and quickly wrapped the robe around him to cover himself up.   
“Is that a video of me? Oh, it’s from the case with the creepy catwoman. Nice.”  
“Seriously John, will you let me… die of embarrassment alone? Please?”  
John entered the room and sat down on his knees next to Sherlock.  
“I jerked off this morning. It’s what people do.”  
“This is different, though.”  
“You should’ve finished. You seemed to enjoy yourself immensely. What were you thinking about?” John said, his voice soft, but still a bit clinical like the other day.   
“John, please, don’t…”  
John moved his hand up and touched Sherlock’s abdomen. Then he moved it underneath the soft fabric of the blue dressing gown and touched Sherlock’s achingly hard penis.   
“Is this okay?”  
“… I don’t understand… but yes. For now.” Sherlock said and closed his eyes. John’s hand was actually on his penis. Stroking him, touching him, taking him closer to orgasm. Sherlock was already far gone and felt his body heat up in waves of flashes and spasms until he erupted all over John’s hand. He hadn’t lasted longer than half a minute. He was panting like an athlete and didn’t open his eyes before several moments had passed, during which John’s hand was gone and he was in the kitchen, cleaning himself, talking as if this was everyday life.   
“Mary had already promised Sarah a girls-night, so I was kicked out before the dresses were brought out. Do you want to see the play? I think it’s quite good, but who knows. I’m dead hungry anyway.”  
The casualty in John’s voice was impossible to interpret. Sherlock listened for some sign, some proof that this wasn’t just a sick accommodational experiment on John’s part. He stood up from the sofa and walked into the kitchen where John was wiping his hands in a towel.   
“John. I need to know. Why are you doing this? This wasn’t a kiss. This was sex.”  
“No. Sex? Come on, it was just a friendly gesture. Don’t read to much into it.”  
Sherlock was confused. Angry. Hurt. Every emotional backside of love was bubbling inside him. This wasn’t helping him. It was hurting him. John was acting as if Sherlock’s feelings weren’t real. Or just the crush of a stupid school-girl. But Sherlock had loved John for eight years.  
“So, did you want to see it? The play?” John asked and Sherlock noticed how his voice was a touch more unsteady than usual.   
“Well, I’m actually… I’m busy tonight. I’ve got… things. A case. I have a case.”   
“Something cool? Want me to join?”  
“No, it’s boring. Very boring. You should ask Mike to see the play with you. He really likes the theatre.” Sherlock said, turned around and disappeared into his bedroom. He didn’t reappear for twenty-five minutes, and by then, John had left.


	3. Change of view

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John practically dies of embarrassment when Mrs. Hudson walks in on him.

Later than night Sherlock was sitting in his chair doing absolutely nothing except obsessing about John, when his phone beeped, and with it Sherlock’s pulse elevated. It was the Irene Adler-case all over again, only this time he was victim of the cruel sentiment. Sherlock remembered how he’d actually wished at that time that he was heterosexual, because he had indeed been intrigued by The Woman. Intrigued in a way normal people never interested him. But she did. Still did, wherever she was. (Ocean Springs, Mississippi, US). But no, he was already deeply in love with John at that time and nothing The Woman did could ever change that.   
Sherlock looked at his phone. 

Hi Shecok.   
Went ot wht Mike  
2 drunk 2 parent 2morroww.  
Mry will kill. Hah ha.  
Can I sleep at 221B?  
Hammishh. Hi hihhih.

Sherlock smiled. John was really drunk. He’d probably started drinking before the play, and as usual, when he went out with Mike, John had tried to keep up, but Mike’s significantly larger body made John an easy target for being dragged into a complete wasteland. 

Yes.   
SH. 

Nothing more. 

***

Fifty minutes later John’s steps could be heard on the staircase. Sherlock, who was in the middle of making himself dinner, took a deep breath. The clock was 10:21 pm and London had almost started drifting into night-time.   
John peeked into the kitchen.  
“Hi, John. I’ve prepared some water for you and Mrs. Hudson’s put on fresh sheets and linings in your bedroom.” Sherlock said without turning around to face him.   
“Good. Why on earth are you making dinner this late?” John asked soberly.   
“Why are you not dead drunk?” Sherlock answered, not bothering with John’s question.  
“Because I only had two beers tonight.”  
“Then what was that text all about? You were typing worse than my mother.” Sherlock found the bottle of olive oil and put some of the oil on top of the potatoes he’d just finished chopping.   
“In case Mary checks my phone. I wanted to stay here tonight.”  
Sherlock’s heart was racing. This was unexplored territory. This was new and he didn’t know how to navigate in the proper direction. What was the proper direction even? He needed to act nonchalant.   
“I see.” He said and started washing an eggplant and a carrot.   
“Sherlock…”   
John was moving closer. Sherlock’s mind was racing, his hands were shaking, he knew he would lose control of his impulses if John came too close. He was so pissed, so angry, so aroused and so hopelessly in love that his head was boiling.   
John stopped one step away from him.   
“I know you think I’m acting kind of strange…” John started.  
“You’re just being friendly. It’s fine. Who cares about how it makes me feel anyway?”  
“What? I care! I’m trying to make you… happy.”  
“The way I’m feeling is nowhere near happy, so you’ve failed.”  
“Maybe we have different ideas about was constitutes sex. I do have more experience than you, so perhaps –“  
“What the hell do you know about that?” Sherlock said loudly and turned around. He was furious and hurt and aroused all at the same time. He looked at John who stood there, puzzled, and Sherlock lost all sense of control and attacked John’s mouth with his own. The kiss was rough, violent and such a turn-on. His penis was rock-hard and as he broke the kiss and looked down he saw that John was also hard in his trousers. He couldn’t believe it.   
“Sherlock, what are you…?” John said, sounding a bit nervous.   
“I need you to accommodate me. One time. It’s the only thing I’m asking.” Sherlock said, trying to sound needy and helpless, but actually thinking he just wanted John to hurt for not taking his feelings seriously.   
“Do you mean……?”  
“Sex, John. I want to be inside you.” Sherlock whispered with a deep voice into John’s ear.  
“Stop. Stop. Stop. Sherlock. I’m not gay. I’ve never even kissed a bloke, and now you want this? It’s… I mean…”  
“I want to penetrate you, John. I promise you’ll enjoy it. Turn around.”  
Sherlock didn’t give him a chance to decide for himself, and quickly started unbuttoning their trousers. He bent John over the kitchen table and saw, for the first time, John’s gorgeous-looking arse. He was so beautiful in this submissive state and Sherlock almost didn’t want to touch John’s secret, unexplored place where no-one had ever been before him. But he needed to. He needed this so badly. Sherlock grasped the bottle of olive oil, wetted his hands and penis with it and started massaging John’s entrance.   
“Do you like it?” Sherlock asked.   
“You know, John, I do have a lot of sexual experience.” Sherlock said, his voice deep, all the while touching John’s opening.   
“In my twenties I slept with a lot of guys actually.”  
“But Mycroft…”  
“Ah, always nice to think about my brother when I’m inserting my fingers into my lover’s arse.”   
John made a loud sound as Sherlock’s fingers slid into the tight hole.   
“No.. No… I meant.. At Buckingham… P-p--- alace. He said that sex alarms you.”  
“Well…” Sherlock moved his fingers back and forth, searching for John’s prostate. “He was referring to heterosexual intercourse, and in that case I’m 100 % inexperienced.”  
John screamed out loud.   
“Found it.” Sherlock said and removed his fingers from John’s body. “It’s penis-time.”  
Sherlock placed his penis in front of John’s open and wide arsehole and slowly entered.   
“Oh my god!” Sherlock cried as he was seated fully inside John. John was thinking those exact words and didn’t know how to deal with this. His cock had grown quite large, but he didn’t know how to cope with the fact that Sherlock’s cock was buried inside his arse. It was burning, it was painful, despite the olive oil. He was a virgin after all and he guessed it would take some time before he would get used to this. Sherlock’s cock seemed very large – much larger than his own average one – and as Sherlock started moving back and forth John felt a strike of humiliation hit him directly in the chest. He was bent over a table while his best friend had taken completely control of the situation and was fucking his arsehole like it was his own property. This was the reason John had never pursued the bisexual side of him. He was terrified of being seen as a lesser man, as someone who receives and is fucked, no control, under submission and in slight pain.   
Until… as Sherlock picked up speed, John felt the pain subside. His prostate was sending out bolts of pleasure every time Sherlock hit it with his cock and it actually seemed as if his arsehole had stretched and was on board with this new invasion.   
John heard Sherlock’s breath grow more and more uncontrolled and rapid and he wondered if it was Sherlock who was supposed to make John come or if the guys who were penetrated usually jerked off at the same time. With women he always made sure they didn’t have to do any heavy lifting, but this was unfamiliar to him. Before he had time to figure it out, Sherlock came. John could feel the come hit his insides three times.   
Sherlock collapsed on top of John who landed nose-first on the kitchen table.   
“Ouch, Sherlock…”  
“Oh, sorry, you know how one gets after sex.” Sherlock said and withdrew his cock from John. Clinically almost.   
“Well, I need to be off actually. Got a… a thing. You know where your bedroom is. Thank you for accommodating.” Sherlock continued, quickly dried himself with a clean kitchen towel, pulled up his pants and trousers and left before John could draw breath.   
As he felt Sherlock’s semen slip out him, a salty tear took the same tour out of the corner of his eye, and he didn’t understand what the hell had happened. 

John listened for any sound indicating Sherlock would come back, but he could only hear Baker Street fuzzing outside and Mrs. Hudson’s humming downstairs – she always hummed like that when she’d enjoyed a little puff. John was still achingly hard and Sherlock hadn’t helped him cross the finish-line. John’s insides were burning for Sherlock’s penile invasion, and he could hardly think clearly. Blurry-minded he reached for the uncut eggplant Sherlock had bathed in olive oil earlier and could barely register what he was doing until he bent over and pushed it inside himself. It slipped in easily, Sherlock had already made sure of that. John clumsily moved the eggplant back and forth with one hand and stroked his cock with the other hand. His breath was rapidly increasing and he felt an orgasm build up from the deepest part of him. Twenty seconds later his cock was shooting come all over his hand and the kitchen table. The pleasure was beyond anything he’d ever felt and he could barely catch his breath. Suddenly he heard the floor creak, and he looked up, terrified that Sherlock would find him like this. But it wasn’t Sherlock. It was Mrs. Hudson. That was much worse.   
“Fuck, Christ, Christ… Mrs… Fuck. Sorry, fucking hell.” John said and tried to remove the eggplant as undetected as possible, but there was nothing discreet about this. He felt so humiliated.  
“Oh, John, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were… occupied. I’ll turn around.” Mrs. Hudson said and did exactly that.   
“How about leaving the room?” John stuttered and tried to get dressed without smearing semen all over his clothes.   
“I just wanted to check it you were okay, dear.” Mrs. Hudson said.   
“I’m perfect, bloody perfect.”  
“How about I make you a cup of tea, dear? You take a shower and when you’re done you can come downstairs.”  
“Fine… just… go, please.”  
Mrs. Hudson did exactly that and left John in a mess of confusion. 

After the shower John stood naked before the mirror and looked at himself. 47 years old and you think you would have figured yourself out by then, but here he was: Suddenly having no idea who he was. A week ago he had never kissed a man, and 24 hours ago he had never ever touched another man’s cock. Looking at himself he could finally admit that he had indeed fantasised about it. It wasn’t just the mind wandering… Did that make him gay? He’d never lusted for another man before. He’d never been intrigued by it and he’d never even given the idea of anal sex so much as a thought. But then Sherlock came. With his curls and cheekbones and tall figure. Glaring eyes. Beautiful lips. Sexy voice. Perfect arse. Beautiful hands. And, as proven on several, several occasions, an achingly big heart.   
John sighed and put on his spare bathrobe, which he’d left at Baker Street. Mary and Sarah was home together. Sarah asleep by now, obviously, waiting for her father to come home in the morning. How could he face his wife and daughter after this? His head was spinning, too many thoughts were flying before his eyes, turning into mental images of Mary – good, kind Mary, bad, evil Mary –, Sarah – lovely, beautiful Sarah, a spitting image of himself –, Sherlock. Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson. Tea. He needed that cup of tea. 

“Here you go, dear.” Mrs. Hudson said as she placed John’s cup of tea in front of him. “Do you care for a snack or something? You must be hungry.”  
“No, thanks, I’m… no, thanks.” John muttered and stared down at the cup.   
Mrs. Hudson sat down in front of him, but didn’t say anything. After a couple of minutes, John spoke.   
“Mrs. Hudson… can I… ask you something?”  
“After tonight I think we can talk about pretty much everything. Except Youtube.”  
“Heh heh… It’s… Sherlock left earlier. After… well… we were together. That way.”  
“I knew something was up. I heard you guys having a little row and then… I heard other things… and then he left.”  
“Yes. Well… What should I do? Seriously. I’m married. To a woman –“  
“Evil.”  
“Well, no, but, no, that’s not, she’s fine. It’s just… How can I be 47 years old and suddenly realize I’m…… ?” John couldn’t say the words out loud. He wasn’t comfortable with redefining his entire sexuality in one evening.   
“The labelling isn’t important though, is it, John? What’s important is that you are involved with two people at the same time.”  
“I can’t leave Mary. We’ve a child together.”  
“Stupid reasoning, John, and you know it. It’s not healthy for a child to grow up with unhappy parents.”  
Mrs. Hudson’s words hit him like a baseball bat to the head. He was unhappy with Mary. He was happy when he was with Sherlock. The last week, although camouflaged by ‘accommodating friend’, had been the happiest since the day his daughter was born. Mrs. Hudson spoke again before John could say this out loud.   
“Do you remember that day when you both moved in to Baker Street?”   
“Yes..?”  
“Sherlock was recovering then. It wasn’t more than a year earlier that he’d been using drugs heavily. This was the first time his brother would let him live on his own. And then he showed up with you, and I thought he’d finally found a real life partner.”  
“Why are you saying this?”  
“Because I saw it already back then. I am more than a housekeeper, you know, I do see things. And I knew it from the very beginning.”  
John smiled and drank his tea. John’s head was aching.  
“Could I sleep down here tonight?”  
“Guest room’s already made, dear.”  
“Thanks.” John said and stood up to go to bed. “And Mrs. Hudson? You are much more than a housekeeper.”


	4. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes a decision and needs to confront Mary about it.

The next morning John was woken up by the sound of his phone. It was a text from Mary. 

Hi! I’m guessing your head   
is killing you today after  
that insane drunk text  
last night, so just hang  
out at BS until you’re  
feeling okay. S and I are  
going to Hyde Park to   
feed the squirrels.   
Taco-night tonight?   
x M

John’s heart skipped a beat at the text, and not in a pleasant way. He knew he needed to be honest with Mary. She was a professional killer after all, she would see right through him. 

We need to talk.   
Please come to BS  
this afternoon. 

As John stretched out on the comfy bed he heard muffled voices from the kitchen. They were Mrs. Hudson’s and… Sherlock’s. Christ. He jumped out of bed, put on the robe from yesterday and tried to do something about his appearances. Suddenly he realized he was very aware of everything about him… His height, his grey hair, his wrinkles, his… stop stop stop, it was Sherlock. He’d seen him before.   
With a concentrated sigh he exited the bedroom and entered the kitchen. Sherlock’s blue – and swollen – eyes looked directly up at him.   
“Hi…” John said muffled.   
“Hello.”  
“When did you get home?”  
“An hour ago.”  
“Where were you?”  
“Walking.”  
“Oh…”  
They didn’t know what to say to one another so Mrs. Hudson took the reigns.   
“Oh boys. You need to talk to each other. Why don’t you let me do some dusting upstairs and you can stay here?” She gave Sherlock a kiss on the head and went upstairs. John cleared his throat.   
“I’ve invited Mary over this afternoon.”  
Sherlock grunted in response. John was saying it. It was on the tip of his tongue.   
“I’m going to leave her, Sherlock.”  
At this Sherlock looked up at John with a genuine interest. His beautiful eyes were piercing John and making his heart to somersaults within him. The words started flowing out of him, as if his heart couldn’t keep the all the emotions trapped inside any longer.   
“I lied to you. When I said that I don’t… feel things, but I’m terrified of the bloke-relationship-thing… My family practically disowned my sister after she came out, and it’s… you’re the first guy, person… I’ve ever been with, and even though it kind of sucked and was painful and all that it was also wonderful… Hmm… What I’m saying is that I’ve loved you for the same eight years as you’ve loved me.” John hadn’t taken his eyes off Sherlock’s during his monologue. He waited for a response. Would Sherlock accept this? Believe it? And then he saw the response… A single tear emerged from Sherlock’s left eye and slid all the way down onto his lips which curved into a large and beautiful smile. 

***

Sherlock and John were sitting together in front of the fireplace when Mary’s steps could be heard, followed by two lighter feet – Sarah was with her, obviously. As they both entered, John shifted in his chair and looked up at them. Mary’s face wasn’t hiding anything: She was truly nervous. Sarah sprinted towards her father and jumped into his spread arms. John hugged her tightly and looked into her eyes, which had the same colour as his own eyes.   
“Hi, sweetie. Did you see the squirrels today?”  
“Yes, yes, and one of them ate from my hand, it was so cool!”  
“That’s great. Next time I’ll go with you, promise.”  
Mary took a step towards them and John could see the uneasiness manifest itself further upon her face.   
“Sarah’s probably hungry, she didn’t eat much in the park.”  
“Well,” Sherlock said and stood up, “I happen to have made something very special for her. I think it’s called… P…. A….. N……”  
“PANCAKES!” Sarah cried and jumped off her father’s lap and took Sherlock’s hand.”  
“They’re down with Mrs. Hudson. Let’s go down, shall we, sweetie?”  
“Daddy, aren’t you gonna eat pancakes?” Sarah asked and looked at John. John’s eyes were tearing up, and Sherlock seemed to notice this, because he jumped in to save the situation.   
“You know how much your Daddy eats. If he comes with us now, he’ll eat all the pancakes before we can have anyone. We can save him some.” Sherlock said. Sarah laughed and John gave Sherlock a tiny smile before he left with Sarah, and then he was back alone with Mary.   
“So.”  
“Yeah.”  
“You wanted to talk.” Mary said, and didn’t sit down.   
“Mary… I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but these past few months haven’t been easy on me.” John stopped and waited for Mary to respond, but she didn’t, so he continued. “But the thing is… It’s not just the past months, really… It’s… Fuck… It’s something that’s been… happening… or not happening, but… been present, but not present like knowingly… more like… well, the past eight years… And I’ve come to realize that…” John cleared his throat and didn’t know how to continue. They were silent for about a minute, until Mary spoke.   
“So, what you’re not saying to me, because you’re a bloody coward, is that you’ve been in love with Sherlock for the past eight years, am I right?” she said with a clinical calmness in her voice.   
John took a deep breath and looked at her. “Yes. You’re right. And I’m sorry.”  
“Why are you sorry?”  
“Because I’m hurting you… Betraying our marriage… Our vows.” John said with a low voice and Mary’s eyes pierced him.   
“You’ve fucked him?”  
“… One time.”  
“Christ, I’m a trained CIA agent and I didn’t notice I was married to a gay guy. That’s hilarious.”   
“No, I’m… not. Well, yes. I guess. I didn’t know myself though. Not really before yesterday.”  
“Was he better than me? In bed?”  
“Jesus, Mary, no, I’m not going there. It’s nothing to do with that!”  
“Did you fuck him or did he fuck you?”   
“Mary, please, stop it.”  
“He fucked you then. Nice, John, really nice.”  
Then there was silence again, for about three minutes. Mary turned around and looked into the skull-picture on the opposite wall. John noticed how her hand quickly dried away what he guessed was a tear on her cheek. After some time, Mary turned around again.  
“We can’t help whom we fall in love with. So. We’ll figure out some arrangements regarding Sarah, I’m suggesting 50/50, and we can co-operate and maybe be friends down the line. But since you let him fuck you, I have to do this…” she said, strode over and punched John directly in the nose. John had seen it coming, and didn’t as much as try to move his head away. He deserved it. 

***

Later than evening, Sherlock and John were sitting together in the sofa, watching the fire crackle in the fireplace.   
“You look sexy with a bandaged nose.” Sherlock said. “I think I might have to hit you again once you’ve healed.”  
“In your wildest dreams.” John replied and moved his head so that he could kiss Sherlock for the fiftieth time this evening.   
“You don’t know much about my wildest dreams.” Sherlock said, his voice deep, while keeping on kissing John.   
“I’ve my whole life to learn about them.”   
Sherlock went silent for a little while. John felt him shift, and pulled back to look properly at him. God, he was beautiful.   
“John… What happened yesterday. It was a very ruthless act on my part. My intention was to take control, because the kissing had made me lose control to an extent I’d never experienced before. So I did what I did, knowing I was probably hurting you… I’m so deeply sorry, John. Hurting you is the last thing I want to do. I hope you can forgive me.”  
“Shh.. You don’t have to say anything else, sweetheart. I hurt you too. Let’s start all over again.”  
“You mean that?”  
“Yes.”  
Sherlock leaned in to kiss John again. The kiss felt warm, fabulous and completely right.   
“Tomorrow there will be carpenters coming here to demolish the spare room beside the bathroom, so this evening is the last we’ll have in complete silence for a while. Do you want to make the most of it?” Sherlock asked with his eyes gleaming.  
“Oh, yes. Sure. But what are the carpenters for?”  
“They’re making a room for Sarah. She needs her own room when she stays here. I want this to be a real home to her. With her father and stepfather.”  
“Oh, Sherlock!” John cried and kissed him hard. “You’re amazing.”  
Sherlock looked at him with soft eyes.   
“Does it still feels weird to you? The bloke-thing? You seem nervous.”  
“A bit.” John admitted.  
“You set the pace. I do have more experience in this, so… you set the pace, love. Yesterday was not representative of what sex between to males can be like. It is, if done correctly and with the right person, the most amazing thing in the world.”  
“Can you show me?” John asked with a flirtatious smile on his face.   
“Yes, sir. And it will be a first time for me too. I may be experienced, but I’ve never made love before. I’ve been waiting for you my entire life, John Watson.”

***

“OH MY GOD! SHERLOCK HOLMES, YOU ARE --- FUCKING --- AMAZING!!!” John cried as Sherlock’s penis hit his prostate in steady beats. Sherlock had started by kissing and biting his way down John’s torso, then all the way down to his feet and up again, starting to lick and suck his cock. Then he’d started massaging John’s balls, before he’d moved his tongue further down until he’d reached John’s entrance. John had completely fallen apart in an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction as Sherlock had entered him. With help from a couple of fingers John had been begging for more after no time, and Sherlock had obliged. This time he’d penetrated John with much more care, inserting his cock slowly and carefully until John was completely stretched. Sherlock had started moving and started stroking John’s achingly hard cock and now they were both panting and screaming out loud in pleasure.   
“WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT FUCKING HOLMES!!!” John cried as he felt a thunderbolt of an orgasm erupt from himself. Sherlock followed suit, and then John felt the heavy weight of Sherlock on top of him as they were both panting in the aftermath of their climaxes.   
“I didn’t expect this to happen when you found that picture in my wallet a week ago.” Sherlock said, panting heavily, but calmly.   
“Me neither. And Sherlock? Just so you know. I’m happy now. I’m truly happy.”  
“I know. Pizza?”


End file.
